Page 57 of The Associate
What did he think?
Did he believe the lie?
Did he see right through it, the way he saw through everything?
Did he remember? The kiss, the taste, the sound Samuel had made before he’d ripped himself away… did it play in his mind, too?
Was he disgusted? Amused?
The panic was acute, a sharp blade of terror. Every time Gael’s name surfaced in his thoughts, it brought the sensory memory with it. The pleasure, and the devastating shame that followed. It was a loop he couldn’t escape, and the phone, lying dark now beside his leg, was a direct line to the source of it all.
Another buzz. The screen flickered, the battery symbol glowing red.
Call me the second you can. Please.
He was causing her to worry. He was everything they’d said he was at The Hills: selfish, disordered, consumed by his own sinful impulses.
A hot tear tracked down his cheek, itching as it slid into the stubble on his jaw. He didn’t wipe it away. He stayed perfectly still, curled in the dark, watching the black, silent slab of his phone.
The phone, its battery spent, did not light up again.
∞∞∞
The sliver of light under the closet door had faded from pale afternoon grey to the deep, bruised blue of evening. His muscles, locked in the same position for hours, screamed with pain.
He moved because he could no longer stand not to.
He pushed the closet door open and crawled out on hands and knees, the carpet rough against his palms, and used the edge of the bed to haul himself upright. His legs trembled, weak and stiff.
His phone lay where it had died. He picked it up. He carried it to the bedside charger, plugged it in, and sat on the rumpled edge of the mattress, waiting. The little lightning bolt icon appeared. He watched it, his mind as blank as the dark screen.
When it had enough life to turn on, the notifications bloomed: three missed calls from Alina, the three text messages he’d already seen. Nothing else. No other name. A part ofhim he despised clenched in a knot of something close to disappointment.
He opened Alina’s thread. He stared at it until his vision blurred. He had to say something.
His thumbs felt thick, clumsy.
Hey. Sorry.I had a stomach bug. Must’ve passed out, slept all day.I’ll be in tomorrow. Thank you for covering for me.
He hit send before he could overthink it.
The reply came almost instantly, as if she’d been holding her phone.
Glad you’re okay. Don’t worry, I’ve got you. Just take care of yourself.
He stood, peeling the hoodie over his head, dropping it to the floor. His underwear followed. The evening air was cool on his skin. He walked naked to the bathroom, avoiding the mirror.
He turned the shower knob all the way to hot. Steam began to billow, clouding the glass door. He stepped inside.
He stood directly under the spray, head bowed, eyes closed, letting it pound against his skull and shoulders. It roared in his ears, a white noise to drown out thought.
But the thoughts came anyway, seeping through the din.
Tomorrow.
He would have to put on the suit. He would have to ride the elevator, walk the corridor, sit at his desk..
He would have to see him.
